


S M I L E   B O Y

by highspeedearth



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Celebrities, Established Relationship, F/M, Fake Breakup, Hurt/Comfort, LadyNoir - Freeform, Marienette, Paparazzi, Press and Tabloids, Secret Relationship, famous Adrien, hint of marichat
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-25
Updated: 2018-11-25
Packaged: 2019-08-28 22:58:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,891
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16732257
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/highspeedearth/pseuds/highspeedearth
Summary: The magazine article reads:"Hey laddies and gentle-women, having a steamy summer romance here in the city of love?We've been infatuated: highly desirable it-boy Adrien Agreste has girls' hearts aflutter this summer with his athletic physique, boyish good looks, and a bad-boy allure that surfaces when you least expect it.So what do you think – is this the boy who has it all? Are there ANY downsides to dat A.A. life?"✰Water off a duck’s back. He doesn't know who they are but they're all interchangeable anyway. So are the pictures they take, in the end. He’s used to walking straight past them: straight lines, expression relaxed no matter how many eyes fasten to his face. It's only since Plagg, and since Marinette, that he's learned it's okay to dodge.





	S M I L E   B O Y

**Author's Note:**

> so i wrote this literally over two years ago and then went into hibernation and just recently my homie M was like just post the goddamn fic? so i emerged from my lair and here we go. and she made an art [AND IT IS TRULY A THING TO BEHOLD !!!!!!](http://ming85.tumblr.com/post/180464576841/to-accompany-a-wonderful-short-fic-my-friend-wrote)

The magazine article reads:

Hey laddies and gentle-women, having a steamy summer romance here in the city of love?

We've been infatuated: highly desirable it-boy Adrien Agreste has girls' hearts aflutter this summer with his athletic physique, boyish good looks, and a bad-boy allure that surfaces when you least expect it. We’ve seen the engineering student on the catwalk at this year’s Paris Fashion Week, sporting Comme Des Garçons like Rei Kawakubo pinned her patterns directly onto Adrien’s naked body (and could you blame her if she did!).

We reckon that for all the times his smouldering smirk has gotten him in trouble, his innocent smile has gotten him out of it. Paris locals spot him out and about in town with friends from high school, and rumour has it he’s still dating his high-school sweetheart. How’s that for wholesome!

So what do you think – is this the boy who has it all? Are there ANY downsides to dat A.A. life?

**Would you say ‘Oui’ to any of these dilemmas?**

_Dilemma #1!_

PRO: You’re Paris’ darling; the it-boy who can resuscitate a dead party by winking at it. Fashion labels have been trying to win you over from that day in 2010 when your balls dropped.

CON: There’s always paparazzi on your tail. Always. Everywhere. Remember every tiny detail of that bonkers party at the City Hotel three years ago, Adrien? Because we sure do.

_Dilemma #2!_

YAY: You’re Richy Rich, born with a silver spoon in your mouth, blessed with all the material goods your heart could desire, and then some.

NAY: Your dad’s always at work. You haven’t spoken to him since you began your degree. You aren’t sure he’s even noticed you moved out :(

_Dilemma #3!_

WUT: You’re childhood friends with the sublime, the exquisite, the one and only Chloë Bourgeois.

BUT: You're not dating her?!

_Dilemma #4!_

SWELL: Brands send you free samples of their products. You're invited to all the opening shows. The youngest Kardashian asked you to sign her boob once. 

HELL: You're known to vanish suddenly for hours at a time, be it from class, work or a party. No one knows what the deal is, but we’re betting it’s not to play Pokemon Go.

_Dilemma #5!_

WOW: Tall, handsome, athletic, charming, and smart enough to get into the engineering programme at ESPCI? Imagine winning that genetic jackpot.

OW: Your mum’s been officially missing and presumed dead since you were twelve. Yikes.

✰

He can tell that Marinette is reading the article that Natalie warned him about this morning by the "thup" sound her fingertips make on the tablet screen. She’s probably swiping through the unexpected bad-boy allure he exuded in the Dior SS18 photo gallery. Taking the tablet away from Marinette could invite fury. Instead, Adrien pretends to sleep.

And besides, it’s not true about the paparazzi. At least, not right now. Right now they are lying in the grass by one of the fountains at Place des Vosges. Right now it is sunny, and the fountain is making nice water sounds, and the only disruption of Adrien’s privacy so far has been the pug who bounded up to them and started drooling on his coursework. Delighted, Marinette had scrubbed her short fingernails over its head.

“You could rub my back instead,” Adrien muttered, lowkey trapped in a feedback loop of wanting to wipe his book clean but not wanting to get his sleeve dirty. “I mean, _after_ you washed your hands–"

“What’s that sound?” Marinette interrupted, cooing to the pug. “Why, yes! Yes, it is the sound of a jealous kitty!"

But now she’s found the Cosmo article, and Adrien observes, eyes closed, how she swallows most of her body language to avoid alerting him. His jacket is lumpy under his head where his keys are in his pocket. Grass tickles his elbows. Mari is an emotional vacuum in the Place des Vosges.

He cracks an eye. She is deep in thought, gaze distant. Adrien waits. Eventually, she places the tablet on the grass by her side, and sits up to look around them, twisting 360 degrees but looking super casual about it.

_There’s always paparazzi on your tail. Always. Everywhere._

“…I already checked earlier,” he tells her. Her shoulders sag with a sigh, and she shuffles over to lie beside him. He offers her a sleepy smile and scratches her hair. Her mouth is set in a delicate moue, but she shoves a small hand right up the sleeve of his t-shirt to poke his armpit.

He squirms away, groaning, “Uncle."

“Why didn’t you say?” her voice barely carries, even though she’s right beside him in the grass.

A cat smile. “You want me to talk _more_?"

“I didn’t realise people were being shitty."

There’s a bunch of grass sort of under Marinette’s face. Powerless to temptation, Adrien twitches the grass up her nostrils. She slaps his hand away, wrinkling her nose. Chat Noir would make a joke right now, about body language trumping eye contact. Adrien presses a kiss to the nose in front of him. He stage-whispers, “And to think – I could be dating the sublime Chloë Bourgeois right now!"

She leans back a little to watch him through narrowed eyes. Then she smirks. 

“Well... _yeah_ , but if Chloë could pick between dating you and dating Ladybug, we both know who’d win."

He laugh-growls and grabs her.

They doze there until the day cools. Then they pack up their books. Adrien dons his beanie and sunglasses. Marinette glides into her brick-red vintage kimono jacket without disturbing the small pocket at the bottom of her left sleeve, where Tikki and Plagg are sleeping.

They're supposed to meet Nino and Alya for dinner over at Rue des Gravilliers. It’s nary a twenty-minute walk, up the Francs Bourgeois and through Beaubourg. But they're barely past the touristy art galleries before Marinette's body language shifts some.

Nobody in the world can read it except for Adrien. 

It says _They found us_

_I don’t care_ he shrugs. 

Water off a duck’s back. He doesn't know who they are but they're all interchangeable anyway. So are the pictures they take, in the end. He’s used to walking straight past them. He's used to walking straight lines, expression relaxed no matter how many eyes fasten to his face. It's only since Plagg, and since Marinette, that he's learned it's okay to dodge.

Mari’s face goes _well_ I _care_

_Up to the roofs_? He angles his head. 

If they dash now, they could probably wake the kwamis and transform in the alley behind the newspaper stand up ahead. It would be easy to outrun the paparazzi, then.

But he lets her decide, and she does: links their hands, spins them around. The subway stop Chemin Vert is just to their right. He has to physically resist the urge to look back at whoever must be there. He's made that mistake before. A picture of your back is better than a picture of your head twisted round. Those make you look hunted.

There’s shouting behind them, rude things, and she never lets go of his hand. Her face is still. There’s that Ladybug quality of concentration to it, like she’s battling something.

They descend the steps to the subway. 

Marinette has never been dependent on his protection. But Adrien’s still thinking, _did they see her face? We’re holding hands._

_What will be published about that tomorrow?_

_What will people say to her next week?_

_Is it a matter of time before she gets tired of this?_

She jars his hand so hard his linen bag comes off his shoulder. “I can hear you thinking.” she says. “Don’t.”

“Don’t think?” he laughs, hearing his own voice from far away. Tugging the straps of the bag back up. 

“Don’t _worry_. We’ve got this.”

The metro is safe, nice and crowded. He only has to turn his back to the round eye of the phone camera in the hands of one teenage girl. Just in case.

_We’ve got this._

But having something is what comes before losing something.

Marinette takes his hand and, gesture hidden, brings it to her sleeve so he can feel the slight squirm of the kwamis through the material. He pokes one of them and it lazily bites his finger. His air rushes from him in surprise.

“Does Tikki bite you often?” he asks Marinette, stone-faced, and when she laughs he finally feels normal.

✰

Derrière is tucked away behind a large green gate, like so many Paris residence entrances. The gate opens to a reception area with a vaulted ceiling, and then a charming patio of mismatched tables and chairs. The restaurant itself is tucked away beyond it. Marinette once dubbed the place strategic gold because of its many dark corners and easy rooftop access, back when they were first trying to balance crime fighting with a distinctly hedonistic student lifestyle. After a while the place just grew on them. Adrien also likes that there are discreet bouncers who know how to weed out the paps from a queue of party-goers. The guy working the door tonight flashes them a smile.

Beyond are Nino and Alya, drinks in hand, having a good-natured argument about Lord only knows. The four exchange kisses, sit, chat, eat. At last the chill of roving eyes aimed at them fades. Maybe tonight will be a good night after all.

But no– at some point in the evening someone turns up the volume of the live newsfeed playing on their phone. The restaurant hushes as an announcer’s voice sounds over tinny phone speakers. Adrien should have known, by now, it’s nights like this that don't keep. 

“... _repeat for any new listeners, we've just understood from our reporter on location that an akuma has been spotted, in the shape of – in the shape of a giant mouth, and it's said to be biting chunks of concrete out of buildings, licking pedestrians, and snapping the gargoyles off the Cathédrale Notre-Dame. Its breath is, we understand, truly alarming, and it won’t stop singing an off-key 'Cake by the Ocean’. As of yet, we have no news of casualties and there have been no official announcements by the Gendarmerie, but we've got a helicopter in the air and are expecting to have live footage shortly; as the situation unfolds we..._ "

Adrien briefly twists his mouth at Mari, who wrinkles her nose and produces emergency cake and some cheese out of her bag.

“At least I got to finish my pasta,” she says, inserting cheese into her kimono sleeve like it's a normal place to put cheese. Adrien rises, stretching, and puts down their share of the bill. “If it doesn’t run too late we might come find you here again,” he tells Nino and they fist-bump. 

Nino stopped being surprised soon after Adrien and Marinette came out of the superhero closet some years ago. (To Marinette: "I should have known you were literally a superhero."

To Adrien: "I should have known you'd be comfortable in black skin-tight leather.")

“I’m not missing out on a scoop this big,” Alya jumps up, dragging Nino up with her. She high-fives Marinette. "Good luck out there, chère. We'll be hot on your tail."

“If Alya gets us killed, you'll reincarnate us, right Marinette?” Nino deadpans. 

"How about don't get killed!" Marinette says, with jazz hands.

“Ready to roll?” Adrien asks Mari in one of the dark corners of the courtyard after they send off their friends.

The two kwami pop out. "Let's do this!" Tikki makes a tiny fist.

"... let's do this quickly," Plagg lowers her fist into something less enthusiastic.

"There are cheese and cake crumbs on the inside of my vintage kimono jacket,” Marinette’s voice is hollow. “I’m going to punch this thing in the teeth.”

They transform and ascend. The roofs above are quiet. An ocean of shingles and TV antennas and chimney pots stretches out before them, and it feels like all of Paris. There’s no sound, from here, no threat. If not for the news, they wouldn't have been aware of any problem. Chat Noir inhales, savouring the moment of freedom, and the live wire tension between him and his lady. She looks to him. He smirks, and they vault.

✰

Ladybug really does punch the akuma in the teeth. Again and again and again. But the 13th century foundations of the Notre-Dame cathedral crack apart, raining stone saints and gargoyles, and the mouth just laughs, booming. 

White teeth the size of footballs, and a tongue that Chat rather wouldn’t think about. The mouth dives away, dodging them, and starts to suck up gallons of water from the Seine, a waterfall in nightmarish reverse. The water roaring up is loud beyond belief – and then it just vanishes into silence and the thin air beyond the akuma's lips. It drifts along, humming a wet approximation of the same old song.

_Can it see us? Does it have eyes in its teeth?_

Suddenly it veers towards them and Chat Noir flits into the dark shadow of an alley, grabbing Ladybug’s hand. But before they can scale the brick wall, the akuma _spits,_ and the river water is a solid object crashing down and knocking them over. Chat loses his footing. Slimy algae and sharp grit swirl around his face. There's no air. His gloved left hand is rigid around her wrist, there’s no other way to–

The maelstrom churns him along. Chat flounders, unsure which way is up, flailing around for purchase. Out of nowhere a hard surface slams into his back and shatters, knocking air out of him in a ream of bubbles. His left hand is suddenly empty, and he can’t help but inhale water. His lungs burn and oh – he would really, really hate to die like this.

But the water drops away, dropping him onto a surface where he coughs up all the water inside. It takes a while for his sides to stop convulsing. Beside him is Ladybug. Sodden and shaky but, thank the stars, breathing. 

They’re inside a shop. A smashed window marks their point of entry.

“There’s broken glass everywhere,” he croaks to Ladybug in warning after another moment’s recovery. The Seine burns his mouth, throat, larynx. Talking hurts. “Are you okay?"

“Pe… peachy. How you doin'?” she pants back.

“I needed a bath anywa–” he breaks off with a hoarse cry. The giant mouth is grinning at them from right outside the broken window ( _does it have eyes in its teeth?_ ). Then it shoots back across the street, shouting “ _talk. to. me. giiiiiiirl”_ , and scarfs down a car. The metal crunches and groans. A shower of car glass patters down, glittering in the street light.

“Oh my God,” Ladybug groans, flat in a puddle on the blue linoleum of the shop floor. There's a faint beeping sound. Chat Noir sits up and looks around as he shakes water out of his hair, feeling truly foul. They're in an electronics shop. Something keeps fizzing and sparking in a corner. If the water had been electrified they'd already be dead.

"While I'd like to think that sound is merely the electric attraction between us–" he starts. She huffs a laugh at him. In the murky light from the street he can't make eye contact, but he sees Ladybug get up, and joins her at the broken window. She elbows some of the bigger shards out of the window fitting so they can climb through, and grimly they set off along the trail of twisted metal and chewed lantern posts.

There's beeping again.

"You steal anything from that place?" He jokes. But they both know it's her, running out of time.

A cut-off scream sounds from around the corner and Ladybug throws him a sharp look. 

“Chat. This is taking too long.”

He knows.

“There should be a Tabac just across these roofs. Let's get some desserts there?” 

Grinning, he gestures for her to climb onto his back. "Hop on board, I'm your Uber driver for today."

Her chest presses into his back as she firmly laces her hands together over his midriff. Her voice comes from just behind his head. "The seat warmer is great, but I'm mentioning in your review that there's no seat belt."

His brain says _oh_ please _make a joke about yoyo bondage sex,_ and then _actually maybe now is not the time –_

Another beep. He takes a deep breath and they launch out of there. He’ll get as close to flying as he can.

Her transformation fails halfway. When he glances down, it's Mari's small, ungloved hands that are clutched around his chest. His stomach twists – if that akuma finds them now, she is so vulnerable. He lands them safely though, no teeth in sight, in front of the Tabac. Its lights are off and the door is locked. Marinette appears from behind him, wide-eyed and tired, hair still damp with river water, an overwrought Tikki huddled in her neck.

Seeing Mari instead of Ladybug is jarring. He takes just one moment to press a hand to her lower back. Then he kicks in the front door.

"You hooligan," she says, stepping in and heading straight for the fridge behind the counter.

"And what's some breaking and entering to a midnight jaunt?" He jokes, secretly feeling terrible about trespassing and creating even more of a mess.

She comes back out, pulling the door shut as best she can, clutching an assortment of pastries for her kwami. Tikki perches on the window sill behind them and tucks in. They share a "Tuesday nights, huh" sigh. Marinette munches on a danish and he gets the croissant that Tikki doesn’t want. 

There's a beat of peace. “You know I don't usually vandalise shops,” he remarks, just to see if he can get her to smile.

“I dunno, pal. I might just have to officially blacklist you from a certain bakery if this is what you do to shop doors.” She says drily. 

“I promise to break in more subtly next time. Like through a window, or an attic trapdoor–”

Her eyes slant to his. “If you come in through the attic I promise you won’t make it to the ground floor.”

His grin widens. “Miss, are you _flirting_ with me–"

Suddenly “BABY I keep on HOPIN’ we’ll eat CAKE by the OCEAN,” sounds right overhead and they both jump. 

"Back into the fray. My lady,” says Chat, gathering Marinette in his arms.

“Don't get stuck to my Danish,” she warns, stretching her arms away from him, “your suit'll stay sticky forever.”

He lets her put the Danish down and then gathers her back in his arms, “Permit me to go deal some vengeance on this blabbermouth. Its days of gluttony and pop tunes are done.”

She grins and gets on her tippy-toes to give him a kiss. Her warm fingers run up his neck and into his hair. He doesn't let her pull back right away and she laughs into his mouth.

“Permission granted,” she whispers. “don't destroy him without me.”

His long fingers catch in the fabric of her blouse and she kisses him just a bit more. 

As he returns the kiss, some human noises close by draw their attention, and they both look up. Voices? 

“Alya?” Marinette tries. She did say she wanted the scoop on this akuma. Chat glances to check: Tikki is practically invisible to prying eyes, so no problem. 

The street light hums and blacks out. A crash sounds in the middle distance and Mari gives him a see-ya pat on the shoulder. Chat nods, and vaults.

Not too long after that, Ladybug reappears on the scene and produces the lucky item of the night: a red and black polka-dotted toothpick.

In the distance, the Notre-Dame is magically restored. Below, the crushed car reassembles itself, glass drawn up to the frame like fairy dust, congealing to a whole. Like nothing ever happened. The befuddled civilian cared for and sent home, they are comfortably together again, on an old rooftop.

"Did you know?" Chat Noir asks, nudging a chimney pot with his foot. "In the eighteenth century, indoor fireplaces became technically feasible for average citizens. Only budgets couldn't keep up. So there was a frenzy of fake chimney pots sprouting on roofs? Because everyone wanted to at least pretend they had a chimney.” He point his chin at the haphazard array of chimney pots across their Paris roofs. “Most of these might be fake. Then they're just little hats for the houses to wear."

"Sounds like humans," smiles Ladybug. "Keeping up with appearances even when it means silly hats."

✰

It’s five pm. Adrien is with Nino browsing a record shop after class. He feels eyes on his neck and fidgets with his beanie. Then he snaps away his hands. Once he had fidgeted his way through a boring class. The next day people.com had headlined with 'Adrien Agreste bravely fighting a drug addiction’. Natalie had sued them for slander, but he had felt weird for a month. Like he was weaving in and out of reality.

“I think I’m ready to go,” he tells Nino, who is trying something out on his headphones and gestures that he’ll follow. Adrien heads for the street, eyeing the surroundings out of habit. His evening stretches before him. He could see if Plagg is up for a rooftop run. See if Mari wants a kiss after class.

His phone buzzes in his pocket, and he answers. It’s Natalie.

"I'm sending something over,” she says. "Look at it."

“Usually you tell me not to look," Adrien jokes, but really he’s asking a question.

“It should get to you any minute," she says, but really she's giving him an answer. He feels the notification vibrate against his ear. “Call me back so we can strategise."

Trepidation growing, he opens the email. It’s empty and the subject line is 'no subject’. He taps on the first of two attachments.

It’s a photo of a newspaper. The colours are washed out, but the image is clear enough. His eyes narrow. A picture of him and Marinette kissing; with a headline, and text that cuts off because the paper was too big. It takes him a moment to register when the picture must have been taken; the red of a Tabac sign stands out. It's him but he’s not Adrien. He’s Chat Noir.

The headline says “ **Two-timing trollop!! Adrien Agreste’s girlfriend caught making out with Paris Bad Boy Chat Noir** "

“Oh _fuck_ ," he exclaims without thinking.

Nino, coming out of the shop, widens his eyes. “I have never, ever heard you swear, mèc."

It takes Adrien a few tries to click out of the first attachment and open the second. It’s the article. He skims it, his heart thumping in his ears. A paparazzo caught them kissing at the Tabac. The article names Marinette Dupain-Cheng as Adrien Agreste’s alleged girlfriend, describes Adrien’s career, and Chat Noir’s reputation. It speculates on Adrien and Marinette’s impending breakup. The damage this could do to Adrien’s public persona. Marinette’s fundamental flaws of character which allowed for such outrageous behaviour. 

It’s just a tabloid. But millions of people will read this and suddenly care.

Some far away part of him registers Nino reading over his shoulder. Irrationally he wants Nino to stop, move away, not know, not care. He recognises the wariness, and swallows it down.

With sloppy fingers, he closes the email and opens the dial pad. He dials ‘1’ and presses the phone to his ear.

“Adrien," Marinette hisses on the other end.

"Mari, we need to meet up,” he says, hearing the urgency in his own voice like it’s coming from someone else.

“That may be difficult,” she sounds just as upset. “Considering there’s a group of your fans –two groups of fans? – who say they want to burn down my parents’ bakery."

“…I’m on my way _now_ ,” and he disconnects.

“What’s up?” Nino asks, cautious.

“People trying to burn down Marinette’s bakery,” Adrien surges into his jacket, patting his pockets for his transport card. “I have to go.”

“Whoa, like, because of an akuma? Is she okay?"

“I don’t think she’s okay and no –” 

_not because of an akuma, but because of me._

He can't say it out loud. 

Adrien stops and has to concentrate before he feels at all like he’s in his body again.

“I’m going with you,” Nino says. “Let me get us a cab.” Nino's warm hand on Adrien’s shoulder helps him move.

✰

The scene in front of Adrien is so strange that he needs a moment to take it in. The bakery windows are messy, somehow, and the door closed. The _Bienvenue_ sign has been turned to _Fermé_. Some twenty people are milling about in front, an excited tension in the air. A lot of young women, and several reporters and photographers whom he recognises as paps. Some of the young women appear to be arguing with each other. Others are giving heated comments to reporters.

"The windows are covered in broken eggs and tomatoes,” Nino sounds nervous. “What’s going on?"

Adrien had forgotten that he was famous. Now Marinette’s paying the price for that oversight. He’s never going to forget again.

Peering over Nino’s shoulder, Adrien thinks there is no clear path to the door. 

Like a gift, Chat Noir’s voice in him says, _there are no absolute obstacles, either._

“Lend me your cap for a bit?” he asks Nino, who promptly whips his snapback off his head and fits it onto Adrien’s. Nino claps a hand to his shoulder, and Adrien strolls over through the crowd, sidestepping several girls and narrowly spinning away from none other than Chloë Bourgeois.

Well that figures, he thinks, surprised at his own anger. Blaming others won’t fix this mess though, and the anger deflates again. He hovers, body language casual, while he messages Mari to open the door. Someone starts shouting his name, he's been recognised –

He whips inside as soon as the door opens, and as it shuts the noise outside mutes. 

And there is Marinette before him. The afternoon on the grass is a hundred years ago. He should have practised in his head what to say to her.

Unsure, he reaches out and wraps his hands around her arms. She watches him for a moment and then draws him into a hug. A physical relief expands his chest at the contact.

“I’m sorry, Mari,” he says, at a loss. “I’m really sorry about this.”

When they let go she rests her hands on his hips and looks up at him. “I know. I'm sorrier.”

Adrien has heard that voice before. Marinette has already made a decision. She just needs him to follow. “What are you thinking?” He asks.

Her hands settle on his arms, just above his elbows. “I know what we need to do. To… to fix this. But you're not going to like it.”

“Tell me.”

She tells him.

“No. No way.” he pulls back from her.

“Adrien–”

“Come on, Mari–” he hears himself begging. “Can't we think of something else?”

“Like telling everyone in Paris you're one of the superheroes Hawkmoth has been trying to capture for years?” Her voice rises. “That's not an option for me.”

“And breaking up with me is an option?”

He already knows she’s right. His heart just needs to catch up to his brain. 

She gives him a level look. “We're still going to have a summer wedding as soon as we've graduated.”

“Ok,” he says. “Ok. Let me tell them outside, right now. Let’s get this over with.” 

“No– wait,” Mari’s voice holds a note of panic now. "Let's sit down first." He feels so tired.

Sabine and Tom come in with a tray of croissants and cookies and big mugs of milky coffee. Tikki is sitting on the tray, looking colourless. 

“I’m really sorry about this. I can’t tell you how sorry I am.” He says to Mari’s parents. 

_How many times do I apologise before I start feeling better?_

Sabine pats his arm. “Let’s eat something.”

Tom enfolds him in the kindest, warmest kind of dad hug. Tears spring into Adrien’s eyes and he blinks them away. He can’t afford to go outside with puffy eyes. 

They talk it through, skyping Natalie from Tom's laptop. There's a group of paparazzi prowling outside the Agreste residence, too.

She advises they avoid using their regular phones, and best to delete everything, because what if they’re hacked.

“All my nudes?” He jokes, to ignore the rising feeling of panic.

"What if we're _hacked...?_ " Marinette parrots, voice flat.

“Then they’ll know you've lied. Imagine that shit storm,” Natalie replies, stony.

“They’re just teenage girls,” Adrien says. His thoughts sound naive, out loud. 

“We can always take more selfies,” Marinette says, without meeting his eyes.

So they delete it all. And they agree on their statements; as if they're the criminals.

Marinette’s voice is softer than he’s ever heard it.

After a while they’ve finished the coffee and Adrien has built up enough resolve, just about enough, and there’s nothing left to do but go tell the crowd that he and Marinette Dupain-Cheng hadn't been in a relationship.

_We're not breaking up, kitty. You're just going to tell them that we already did_.

✰

Adrien exits the bakery and casually steps up to the mob on the sidewalk. A few reporters rush over. Some cameras flash. They crowd him but he's experienced it before, knows what to do with his body language. 

"I'm to understand you're all here because of a photograph taken of Marinette, together with Chat Noir," he starts, trying to keep the fatigue from his voice. Some teenagers in the back make rude noises. "I'm shocked at what you have done to her family's residence and place of work. None of you have any right to deface a shop or attack another person."

"Well she had no right to cheat on you, especially with a playboy like Chat Noir!" Hollers a girl.

"Hey back off! Chat Noir is awesome! She's the bad guy here!!” Someone else yells.

Adrien rubs his nose, as if maybe somehow he will be able to rub away the many layers of irony this is shrouded in. He'll have to talk about this when he's Chat, too. Cameras are clicking. Red recording lights blink. 

_Water off a duck’s back._

"I appreciate everyone's concern. But the bottom line here is that you’re interrupting regular business for this bakery, so I’d like to ask you all to return to your own day.” 

“What Marinette did is wrong! We have a right to express how angry we are!” Shouts someone. A reporter who had twisted to look at the fan turns back to look at Adrien. “You’re Adrien Agreste. You can’t expect us to ignore the story of how your girlfriend was caught illicitly making out with the city's sex symbol superhero. We want to know what you’re _feeling_ right now.” 

Adrien blinks at the crowd. _Go make money off your own feelings_ , he wants to say. Sighing, he runs a hand through his hair. Shit. It'll probably look a mess, and these will be the photos they use. _Adrien Agreste loses composure during impromptu interview at adulteress’ family bakery. Young celebrity ready to crack._

"Um. Look. Apart from the fact that none of this is your business, and the fact that this is not the sixteenth century, and we all have sexual freedom, and none of you need be worried about other people's monogamy or lack thereof – apart from that. Marinette and I aren't currently dating. She's not my girlfriend. She can make out with Chat Noir all day long for all I care. And can you blame her? Chat Noir is _hot_."

A murmur ripples through the crowd. More pictures flash and reporters shout questions at him but it all blurs into a singular chaos.

Chloë is there. Her face wears skepticism well, but she doesn't say anything. He looks away from her.

“What if we don't believe you?” Someone asks.

“Well then don't,” he blinks, and peers over at them. A slightly raised eyebrow. “Do I look awfully beat up about it? Come on. Now everyone go home before the baker decides to press charges.” 

The fans seem to accept that, turning away.

Chloë is staring at him. “You looked beat up earlier, when you got here,” she says, stepping closer. Adrien lets her. He shifts his weight, letting the last paps draw near so they can listen in.

“That's because Marinette is one of my best friends. And look what they’ve done to her house over – over nothing! Some imagined slight to me?”

Chloë just looks pensive. But there’s some kind of recording device in her hand.

“One thing you should actually be worried about,” she starts, “is that if Marinette is publicly involved with Chat Noir, she's going to be a mark for Hawkmoth, too.”

Startled despite himself, Adrien snaps his head up. 

“You're right.” He falters, swallowing the _She always has been_ that lies on his tongue. “I hope Chat Noir is prepared to keep her safe.”

“May I contact you later for a follow-up?” Chloë asks.

"My agent will be available," he nods at her. And with that, he turns and leaves.

Adrien stalks up the street, away from the house with his favourite person inside. It feels like the lies he told are coming more true with each step. His thoughts are turned inside out. But he walks a straight line. He doesn't turn to look back.

Suddenly Nino drags him off to one side, the screen of his iPhone bright in his other hand.

“Hey–” says Adrien, heart thudding.

“Hush, I got us a taxi is all.”

They slide into the back seat. The taxi driver looks totally uninterested, starts driving as soon as Nino gives him his own home address. Then Nino puts his arm around Adrien, hand coming up to cradle his neck. Adrien leans into it. All the energy in his body is gone. He wipes at his eyes and they drive a while. Nino's warmth stays him. Nino knows what is true.

Just like Marinette will know. Must know.

He gets out his phone to text her, but ends up just scrolling through what's left, the sterilised remains of their messaging history.

Now he asks Nino, “Can you message Alya to tell Marinette…” 

“Yeah?” Nino gets out his phone again.

Adrien lets out another long shaky sigh. “Um. Tell her…” 

But nothing good comes to mind. He can't begin to express everything he wants to. _I love you and I miss you and I'm so sorry_ sound trite. 

_I’ll send cleaners to the bakery ASAP_ sounds even worse. 

It sounds like _I used to date a celebrity and when his fans threatened my parents’ livelihood he lied about it and then paid for the damage_.

He presses his hands to his face and Nino pulls him closer. “It's okay. We can message her later.” 

There's the noise of traffic and the scratching sounds their coats make as they breathe huddled together. The taxi is dark. Adrien’s hands hide the bright lights of Paris from him. He can hide too, just until the taxi reaches its destination.

**Author's Note:**

> THE END! Ha!  
> • i mean it probably wont take another two years to write part two  
> • moue is a real word  
> • you guys it's killing me that i cant figure out the css formatting to narrow the text block, idk bout u but i cant stand reading these loooooong long liiiiines  
> • no further comment. my agent is available for questions


End file.
